A/N Mamma Mia! Here we go again! Wrong musical I know, but I'm all for crossovers. :D Okay, I apologize in advance, but I made up a Les Mis centred joke today for no apparent reason (sad I know, I obviously have far too much time on my hands). Here we go:
Q. What do you call a pile of wheelbarrows?
A. A BARROWcade *cringes*
Yeah, I'm just going to go and start buying cats in advance for when I turn into a mad cat lady. Bye.
P.S. Congratulations to Love and kill who was 50th reviewer! I'll get working on that one shot as soon as I have the time, so keep an eye out.
Disclaimer: Who am I? Not Vic- tor Hu- gooooooo! *insert high note here*
Chapter Nineteen
"What the hell happened to you?!" burst out Combeferre when Aimee and a still gore covered Bahorel appeared in the back room of the Musain.
"It turns out that Aimee has a mean swing," Bahorel muttered, collapsing into a chair and grumpily submitting to Joly's medical ministrations.
"And why, pray tell, did Aimee feel the need to try and break your nose?" Combeferre sounded bemused and his eyes twinkled playfully behind his thin rimmed spectacles.
Bahorel gave a sly grin and looked over to where Aimee was standing, a distinct blush staining her cheeks. "Why don't you tell them, mon petite amour?" She had told him the whole story, only omitting parts of the conversation (alright argument) that she had had with Enjolras, in the forty or so minutes it had taken for them to walk to the Musain.
Aimee jumped slightly at being addressed, a strange feeling of familiarity washing over her. She heard her Papa's voice calling her the same endearment, always right after he said her name. A wave of frustrated tears blurred her vision unexpectedly, and she wiped them away angrily. If she could remember that, then why couldn't she remember her name!
The Amis exchanged worried glances when they caught sight of her tears, none of them quite sure how to react.
"I can tell them if you would rather," Bahorel offered, guessing, correctly so, that Aimee was a little embarrassed by the events of that day. However, he was incorrect in guessing that her embarrassment was the cause of her tears.
"I am perfectly capable of it myself, thank you!" Aimee snapped, surprising them all again. Aimee was rarely anything other than happy, occasionally prone to bouts of worry and melancholy, but she was never this snappish.
"I took myself to the police station today and tried to explain my situation and my suspicions that my father was trying to contact by giving me the necklace." More tears sprang unbidden into her eyes as she remembered the humiliation. "He laughed in my face, thinking it was all a joke set up by a co-worker. When he realised I was serious, he said I was mad and yelled at me to get out before he arrested me for wasting police time." She took a deep shuddering breath, collapsing limply onto the piano stool. "Enjolras was right," she muttered miserably to herself, "I was making something out of nothing." She wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I am mad."
"If so, you can join the club." Although Grantaire's comment was flippant, Aimee heard the concern behind the words.
"I'm mostly anxious about the fact that you went out on your own," Joly fussed, checking her temperature and pulse and instructing her have a spoonful of a vile smelling liquid, looking not a little like bog water, that was supposed to calm her nerves.
Aimee refused, partially amused but mostly annoyed. "I was sick of being so needy all the time," she said, "I wanted to be able to do something on my own for once. Prove Enjolras wrong." She added the last part in whisper, but Grantaire's sharp ears picked it up.
"Oh dear," he said, rolling his eyes in mock dramatics, "what has our Marble Man gone and done now?"
"Nothing." Seeing their disbelieving faces, Aimee partially elaborated. "He was a little insensitive this morning, that's all."
"What she is trying to say, in the most polite way possible, is that I was an unfeeling ass." Enjolras' voice came from the doorway.
His unexpected arrival, and his unexpected words, made Aimee jump. Before she could gain control of her features, surprise reigned supreme; Enjolras was never so self-insulting. It was then she remembered that she was still angry with him and schooled her face into a haughty scowl.
"Care to elaborate?" Grantaire queried, a small smirk appearing on his face after viewing their exchange.
"No," Enjolras replied tersely. He then tossed something onto the drunkard's table. "These are the old designs, I didn't know if you wanted them as a reference or inspiration or what."
"Sorry, I'm a little lost? Why would I need the old pamphlet designs?" Genuine confusion showed clearly on Grantaire's face but Aimee's heart leapt as she realised what Enjolras was doing.
"I want you to redesign our pamphlets. That is, if you have to time?" The question was asked sarcastically, but Grantaire didn't seem to mind. He looked torn between grinning like a fool and crying at being trusted again.
"I'm sure I can squeeze you in somewhere." A massive smile split his face and Aimee couldn't help but smile with him.
Her smile faltered a little when Enjolras indicated with a jerk of his head that he wanted to speak to her in the corridor. She dearly wanted to glare at his rudeness and ignore him, but she really couldn't be bothered.
Once they were stood outside, Enjolras closed the door so that they were cut off from the curious eyes of the others and then leaned against the wall opposite her, his face blank and impossible to read.
Determined to play him at his own game, Aimee crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow in challenge. "Did you want to say something? Or am I still being 'irrationally emotional' like this morning?"
He grimaced as she quoted his own words back at him. "I apologize for that, it was uncalled for." He took a deep breath. "I heard what you said about your…trip… this morning."
Aimee flushed and looked away. "You can say 'I told you so' now." Her voice was flat.
He shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. "I am not that petty. I have thought you knew me well enough by now to know that."
She turned her head to look at him again, hurt etched into her features. "Yes, I thought I did know you, especially after the time we spent together over Christmas. But then," she shook her head tiredly, "after how you acted this morning…" Her shoulders slumped. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was just so tired of today and it was only mid-afternoon. "I felt like I was talking to a stranger," she finished.
He began to try and speak but she waved for him to be quiet. "I quite frankly don't care anymore. You were right, in the end."
"I'm still sorry about how I went about it." The words seemed awkward coming out of his mouth and Aimee couldn't help getting the feeling that Enjolras didn't apologize often.
"Some of the things I said were unnecessary too," she admitted with a sigh. They were silent, but after a minute, Aimee thrust her hand out towards him. "Forgive and forget?"
He seemed startled for a moment, but then took her hand. "Forgive and forget. But I'm still not happy with you sneaking off this morning. Margo was in a complete state when I got home." He gave her a smile to show he was not truly cross and Aimee felt a strange tingle in her belly at the sight of his lopsided grin, enjoying the feel of his hand in hers. There's the Enjolras I know and lo…
"Oh, the scandal! Our Noble Leader partaking in an illicit tryst! And right outside the door of our meeting room no less! Shame on you, sir! Shame on you!"
The two of them jumped apart and Aimee hastily stepped forwards to slap a grinning Courfeyrac around the back of his head.
"Not funny!" she growled, snatching up his hat from where it had fallen to the ground and running into the meeting room.
Courfeyrac gave a squawk of displeasure and promptly ran after her. "Oi! Give me back my hat, you evil little sprite!"
Her earlier dismal mood forgotten, Aimee giggled as she led her best friend a merry dance around the room, jumping around chairs and tables, dodging under his arms and, with help of Grantaire, who placed her on a table, successfully deposited the hat in a niche up near the ceiling.
Jehan, who had been behind Courfeyrac on the stairs, laughed openly as his friend attempted to retrieve his hat. As Courfeyrac was only of average height, he was forced to balance precariously on a chair, grasping his hat triumphantly a moment before he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor with a yelp of surprise and a thud. Aimee was the first to scurry forwards to help him up and even dusted down his coat as he grumbled about having horrible friends who didn't respect a man's attachment to his hat.
"So, how did the job hunting go?" Aimee asked when he had finally stopped grumbling and was settled with a glass of wine and a plate of warm bread, creamy Brie cheese, and some smoked meat in front of him. The serving girls adored Courfeyrac and so he was almost always guaranteed an above average meal.
He took a deep drink of his wine before replying. "I have resolved my issues with law clerking and have secured myself a very handsome position at a well renowned law firm. And yes, Enjolras before you start pestering me, they are somewhat sympathetic to our ideas and our cause and do a lot of pro bono legal work for those in unfortunate circumstances." He took another drink. "All in all they seem like a very good place." He noticed Bahorel's bruised nose. "Good grief! You got into a brawl and you didn't invite me? It had better have been over something worthwhile."
"Don't ever put your arm around Aimee's shoulders unannounced, that's all I'm saying." Bahorel shot her a wink and went back to baiting Joly over how his complexion was looking a little pasty and wasn't that a symptom for something?
Upon realizing what Bahorel had meant, Courfeyrac threw his head back and laughed. "Got some fight in you, hm? Well," he tapped her nose lightly, "we already knew that didn't we? Never underestimate a girl's swing; I learnt that the hard way. I remember when I was ten, I got into an argument with a girl from my home town in Provence and when she couldn't think up a counter argument, she punched me in the face and walked off!" He chuckled at the memory.
Although unintentional, Courfeyrac's words sent Aimee back into the state of mind she had been before his and Enjolras' arrival and she excused herself to go and sit in a corner for some peace and quiet. She rested her chin on her hand and sighed deeply. They all had memories of their childhoods and she had nothing. Maybe a few brief images, a snatch of a conversation or the hint of a tune. So many things lost to her, possibly forever. She didn't know how long she had been sat there when Jehan slid quietly into the chair beside and gave her a gentle smile.
"How are you, Jehan?" she asked, glad to have a distraction from her heavy thoughts. "Oh, and Ophelia of course." The familiar grey head popped out of his satchel at the mention of her name, instantly disappearing again when she saw nothing of interest.
"We're fine." He leaned forwards, interest flashing in his eyes, "I was just wondering where you learnt that song?"
Aimee gave him a puzzled frown. "Which song?"
His expression matched hers. "The one you were humming just now." He then hummed a gentle melody back to her and Aimee felt a buzz in her head as another memory sprang back into focus.
Dancing dust motes spinning around the polished wood of the piano, their serenity completely at odds with the frustration she was feeling. Her fingers stumbling over the difficult piece of music, trying again and again until she gave up with a growl and a harsh grating of notes as she slammed her hands down on the keys, a soft voice, a new melody…
"My mother used to sing it to me when I was having a really difficult time with something." An involuntary tear leaked from her eye, but she brushed it away impatiently, determined to embrace the memory as a happy experience, not a sad one.
"You remember the tune?" Jehan's face lit up with excitement.
Aimee gave him a wide smile. "I remember the words too!" She stood up and scrambled over to the piano bench, her heart thrumming with excitement. She settled her fingers on the keys and gave a bright smile, "I think the words are rather apt for today." With that she began to play and, a moment later, to sing.
There's a song that's inside of my soul, it's the one that I've tried to write over and over again. I'm awake in the infinite cold, but You sing to me over and over and over again.
So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray. To be only Yours I pray, to be only Yours. I know now you're my only hope.
The forgotten notes and lyrics came once again to Aimee and she felt a swell of emotion in her heart as a flood of memories accompanied the music. Up until now, her memories of her Maman had been few and far between so Aimee relished the images, sealing them away in her heart. Playing the piano together, walking through green fields full of sunshine and laughter, whispered conversations as her hair was brushed, lovingly brushed, encouraging words and caresses as she battled over a difficult piece of music or schoolwork, love, always love.
Sing to me the song of the stars, of Your galaxy dancing and laughing
and laughing again. When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that You have for me over again.
So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray. To be only yours
I pray to be only yours, I know now you're my only hope.
Long brown hair, just like hers, dark eyes that were constantly full of joy, skin the color of milky coffee, spoken endearments in another language, a language she had been taught to speak. Italian? Yes, Italian. Her heart filled with joy at this found puzzle piece, Aimee launched into the next verse, her voice filled the joy.
I give You my destiny, I'm giving You all of me.
I want Your symphony singing in all that I am. At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back.
Her voice mingling perfectly with her mother's as both of them hit the highest note in the song together. For a moment, Aimee felt like she was singing with her mother again, singing the duet that was so close to both of their hearts.
So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray.
To be only Yours I pray. To be only Yours I pray to be only Yours. I know now You're my only hope.
She hummed the last few notes again, letting the notes of the music slow down to a melodic ending. The room erupted into applause, all of the Amis cheering, even Enjolras. Aimee laughed, sniffing away tears at the same time. The song had unlocked so much within her; she didn't know which emotion to choose. She was just composing herself when she spotted a stranger standing by the open door, joining in with the applause, a strange look on his face.
Noticing that Aimee's gaze was directed towards the door, the rest of the Amis did too, several of them rising to their feet protectively when they spotted the man. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm and, rather bravely, advanced further into the room.
He was old, Aimee could tell that much, but not to the point of being decrepit. He was probably in his mid to late fifties with greying hair that had once been dark blond. His face was lined from laughter and his deep brown eyes were kind.
"You have a wonderful voice, mademoiselle." He sounded sincere and the Amis relaxed slightly and returned to their seats. Only Bahorel remained standing, more than ready to remove the man if necessary.
Aimee felt herself flushing as she ducked her head at the complement. "Thank you, monsieur. You are too kind."
"I would like to offer you a job."
Aimee's head snapped up and she gaped at him, along with most of the Amis.
The man chuckled at their reaction. "I don't like to dance around the topic at hand. My name is Jacques Chavenage; I own a theatre, Théâtre dela Reine. It is small, but successful having been open for forty years or so. I must confess that I wanted to give you the job the moment I heard you singing from downstairs, but I couldn't bear to interrupt your performance." He smiled, slightly wistful of a sudden. "You're voice reminded me of some else, a young Italian singer I knew, a long time ago." He looked at her intently, as if seeing her for the first time. "You even look like her, same hair, same voice, and that song…" he muttered, shaking his head as if to clear it. "My apologies, I am being extraordinarily rude. Not only have I interrupted your gathering, I have not even asked your name!"
Aimee stood quickly and dropped a curtsy, much to the Amis amusement. "My name is Aimee Lyon." She rather self-consciously realized that this was the first time she had been able to introduce herself with a surname, her surname. It filled a gap in her heart that had been empty for some time and the joy manifested itself outwardly in a radiant smile. She briefly introduced the Amis, who nodded their heads in greeting, some politely, but most of them wary and a little suspicious.
Chavenage eyed them a little nervously but mostly with amusement at their protectiveness. "I would like you to start as soon as possible. That is, if you are interested?"
Aimee thought for a moment. A job would be very useful. It would give her some independence, a chance to meet some new people, and she had the strangest conviction that this man had known her mother. The fact that he knew a song that her mother wrote was a fairly large indication of this. She couldn't be sure, but she was going to find out.
Another factor of course was the money. Although the pay probably wouldn't be much, it would give her some money of her own. As much as she loved the Amis, she felt bad relying on them for the majority of her food, care and board. It would also give her some money to help her pursue her investigation into her past. However, she felt that this was something she needed to think about. "Would be possible for me to have some time to think on it?"
A large smile crossed the older man's face. "Certainly, and I believe that it is very wise of you to consider things before rushing into them. If it would help, I could you a letter detailing exactly what your duties would be if you accept? Working times, pay, that sort of thing?"
"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Aimee scrambled to find a piece of paper to scrawl Enjolras' address on, eventually taking a piece off Combeferre and borrowing Enjolras' pen.
With a parting bow and a small smile, Chavenage took his leave, carefully closing the door on the way out. There was silence in the room until Aimee broke it with a delighted laugh.
"I've been offered a job!" She clapped her hands together in delight. "An offer to sing as a job!"
Courfeyrac leapt to his feet and swung her around the room as she laughed giddily. The others soon joined in with exclamations and congratulations, except for Enjolras, but in her excitement Aimee didn't notice.
"What did I miss?" A bemused looking Marius was stood at the door, his eyes bright and his cheeks reddened by the wind.
"Do you mean this afternoon, or over the past week?" Enjolras' voice was icy and everyone flinched. Marius flushed and looked at the floor.
Aimee felt compelled to break the awkward silence. "I got offered a job today, just now actually, to work at a theatre, Théâtre de la Reine." She gave her announcement with a smile and ushered for him to sit down, ignoring Enjolras' scowl as she did so.
Marius looked pleasantly surprised. "I've been there a few times over the years. It's very well renowned even if it is not of the highest standard." He gave a wistful smile, "I went to a show there over the holidays, with my family and Cosette." The dreamy sigh that accompanied the utterance of her name made many of the Amis roll their eyes and turn away.
"How is Cosette?" Aimee had learned a little about her from Eponine, but she didn't necessarily trust the other girl's judgment. While Eponine was her friend, she knew she harboured a slight resentment for Cosette, even if she was getting over Marius.
The smile Marius gave her could only be described as radiant. "I haven't seen her as often as I would like," he admitted, "but even seeing her a little is better than the torment I have been in for these past few years." He went on to tell her everything about Cosette; how she was back in France as a companion to the wife of a rich gentleman whose parents had known Marius' grandfather. Apparently, when Cosette's father had died, it transpired that he was an awful lot richer than had been apparent. Unfortunately, the bulk of the money he had buried somewhere for safe keeping and so Cosette was having to find a way to get to the location of the money and then deal with it accordingly.
Marius turned melancholy at this. "I have offered to help her, but I am without the funds to do so. My cousin however," he grimaced at the mention of this relation, "has more than enough money, he is an officer in the cavalry you know, and Cosette seems to have caught his eye." He slumped dejectedly. "She still holds affection for me, but for how long? When I am nothing but a penniless student and Theodule is…so much more."
Aimee couldn't help but roll her eyes. She had been sat listening to him rant on for a good couple of hours, in which time the rest of the Amis had trickled in (apart from Feuilly, but no one was surprised), along with Eponine and a skinny urchin who Aimee remembered was Eponine's younger brother, Gavroche. She could manage dreamy oversharing, but she couldn't take his depressed moaning. "I'm sure you'll work something out," she said soothingly, silently begging with her eyes for someone to help her. That someone came in the unexpected form of Enjolras.
"Marius," he stalked over to the table and set a bundle of papers before the depressed young man, "we are having some new pamphlets designed so I would like the written content to be updated as well. One of your few real talents is writing up the content of pamphlets, so I would appreciate it if you could have the new drafts ready to go the printer in a few weeks."
Marius nodded dumbly, glad to have been spared a furious lecture by his friend and leader and was soon dragged into a game of cards by Courfeyrac and Bahorel, the latter of which gave him the story of his broken nose, which equally amused and horrified Marius.
"I'd like to talk to you." Enjolras leaned in towards her so that their conversation was private.
"What about?" Aimee also leaned in and lowered her voice, trying to ignore how her heart raced at her close proximity to revolutionary.
"I think we need to discuss it privately." He gave a pointed look to the nosier members of their group who quickly turned back to their own conversations and games.
"Do you want to go back to the apartment then?" Aimee reached for her coat, "I think Margo might appreciate an explanation from me about today and I'm quite tired."
Enjolras nodded and after gathering all of their belongings and saying a hasty farewell to the Amis, they set out into the rapidly darkening afternoon.
There was no hand holding on this journey, each of the parties keeping their hands to themselves. As they walked, Aimee cast a sideways glance at Enjolras through her lashes, studying his tense expression. Why was he acting so strangely? And what on earth did he want to talk to her about?
A/N The song Aimee sang was Only Hope by Mandy Moore. Cookies if you know what film it is from. More cookies if you can find the connection between the name of the theatre and Les Mis. I didn't really like the end, but a really important part is coming up next chapter and this was getting REALLY long so…meh. Let me know what you think. You know, even though this had got quite a few follows, not many of you are reviewing. I really would appreciate knowing if my followers are actually reading and enjoying this. Okay, I'm done whining now.
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz